


Start a Fire

by blameitonthegirl



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon PSTD, Eventual Smut i hope, F/M, Heir of Fire AU, IDK if it's slow burn or not i'm kinda going with the flow, Modern AU, Multi, Other, Rowaelin AU, purely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 03:46:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13989801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blameitonthegirl/pseuds/blameitonthegirl
Summary: When two people trying to drown their sorrows, supressed feelings and pent-up anger meet in a club, what could go wrong?Everything, apparently, if you consider one of them is an pyromaniac assassin trying to fulfill a promise and the other one is mob hunter with ice in his veins.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> This fic was originally posted on tumblr.  
> English is NOT my first language, so I'm sorry for the grammar mistakes e awkward style. Feel free to correct any typos. Seriously.
> 
> Purely self-indulgent. I do not won any of the characters.
> 
>  
> 
> A very important note: I DO NOT SUPPORT STRANGERS BITING OTHER STRANGERS IN THE CLUB, OKAY? No matter how hot one looks. Please don't do that.

_The DJ was really good_ , Aelin noticed, surprised.

But the fact that she could still have a coherent thought after the amount of booze that she had drunk was the real surprise. Or not, considering that she was drinking that same amount for two weeks now. She must be gaining at least a little resistance.

_Dammit_ , she thought. Now she couldn’t even be drunk properly.

Aelin scanned the dance floor again while still sitting in the bar. Looking for a victim.

A young man with brown hair looking in her direction caught her attention, but she shrugged, turning her head the other way. The man was handsome, but the color of his hair reminded her of another boy, from another life.

She emptied her glass and made her way towards the dance floor.

–

Rowan was hunting. He’d been hunting for the past two weeks now, going in every club in town, drinking only enough to make himself less intimidating, hunting someone as desperate as him to muffle the screaming in his head with another type of scream.

Every night he found someone, and every morning that painful scream was louder, and his heart, colder. Which was perfect for his job, but not so much for his mental health.

He was surveying the dance floor, eyes skipping almost automatically any girl who resembled her even a little, when he saw someone who caught his attention.

She was dancing right in front of him, with her eyes closed, her golden hair reflecting the red light in the club, her body swaying with the music, while a boy with black hair behind her had his hands in her hips and was trying to move in the same rhythm as her. She was wearing a black skirt and a black blouse, long-sleeved but with a very, very nice cleavage. Rowan was expecting to see heels in her feet, but she was wearing black ankle boots.

Suddenly, she raised her head and opened her eyes, like she was forced back into reality. Rowan felt like he was looking in the mirror, seeing the numbness, the lack of feeling in her expression, those dead eyes.

Those eyes focused on him, and, like she was putting on a mask, her face turned into something similar to interest, a smirk forming as she measured Rowan’s body. One of her eyebrows had raised when she finally looked into Rowan’s eyes.

A challenge.

And Rowan had found his prey.

–

If Aelin was sober, or maybe if she cared, the way that that silver haired man was looking at her would’ve sent her running.

But he was everything she was looking for at the moment. Dangerous. So handsome. And, by the look in his face, wanting to use her in the same way she wanted to use him. Maybe this guy would be able to make Aelin feel something, even if just for a few hours, even if later, she would be deeper in that abyss.

He was wearing a black jeans and a white shirt that gripped tight the muscles of his arms. As he walked towards Aelin, she appreciated the determination in his steps. People moved out of his way instantly, and his eyes kept locked in Aelin’s.

When he got closer, she noticed they were bright green. And were looking at her with such predatory intent that Aelin couldn’t help to lift her chin to face the challenge.

She hasn’t stop dancing since she saw him, but had forgotten the boy she'd thought would be her company tonight. Noticing his hands still in her hips, she turned her head back.

“I think I won’t be needing you tonight.”

The guy, too wasted to understand the dismissal, or maybe simply not caring, didn’t move.

Aelin felt a flash of anger. Anger was good. Even if anger was turning as difficult to maintain as any other feeling. She grabbed the guy’s wrist and twisted. “I said… out.”

This got his attention. He pulled himself away from her, shooting her a hurt and confused look.

“What the fuck, you crazy bitch,” he said, already backing away.

Aelin gave him a fake smile.

“Thanks for the company”, she said, and turned, intending to go look for her new challenge… only to find him already standing right in front of her.

He was smirking, but his green eyes were now impenetrable. He had a tattoo covering his right arm, starting in his pulse and going up, disappearing inside his sleeve, so she couldn’t see exactly where it ended. It seemed like words, but she didn’t recognize neither the alphabet or the language.

Aelin stood still, with her hands on her hips, letting her eyes pass through his body again, slowly, up and down and up again. His eyes flashed with anger with this inspection, and his nostrils flared.

“Are you done staring?”, he shot, and bared his teeth at her. His voice was rusty, like he hasn’t talked in a while. He had an odd accent, but it wasn’t italian. Irish?

She cocked her head, pretending to think about it. “You’ll do.”

The man took another step in her direction, standing so close that she had to raise her head to face him.

“What was the problem with that boy? You’ve seemed to be enjoying yourself”, he said, his eyes examining every inch of her face, her hair.

“Too soft.” And it wasn’t a lie.

Aelin needed someone hard, cold, impenetrable. Someone who wouldn’t mind her roughness, her lack of feeling. Someone she could use and not feel guilty about it. And this man, with eyes so cold that could freeze her soul if she still had one, would be perfect for the night. Maybe, after him, she could finally start the mission she had in this godsdamed city, and move on.

–

_Gold_. Now that he was standing this close to her, he could see that her eyes were deep blue, but with rings of gold around the pupils. And the gold of her hair only accentuated such strange eyes.

_To see this eyes sparkling with joy_ , Rowan thought, _must be a sight from heaven_. And immediately stopped himself. Not a sight you will see. Or should hope to see. He needed to get done with this girl, soon and fast.

Rowan lowered his head, whispering in her ear.

“And am I hard enough for you, blondie?”

Her scent was a mix of sweat, lavender and something that remembered him of fireplaces and bonfires. It was intoxicating.

“That is something I intend to find out soon enough”, she said, her voice low, cocking her head. She put her hands on his chest and tiptoed to whisper in his ear. "Do you think you can handle me?"

Desire flashed through him. What would it take for her to loose her composure? Could he break her mask, see what those eyes were only hinting?

She was too close now. Her scent was driving him mad. He should answer, but was too occupied noticing her earlobe to continue the conversation. Strange that it was bare. Rowan would’ve expected that a girl like her would be wearing earrings, big and shiny.  _How could an earlobe be so appealing?_ What would she do, he wondered, if he bit it here and now?

And, before he could pounder the consequences of his action, like he was used to, he did just that.


	2. Chapter 2

The stranger bit her earlobe. Actually  _bit_ her, after talking to her for two whole minutes, like some animal claim ou territorial bullshit. Aelin was a foreigner in this country, but she was pretty sure that any biting should come  _at least_ after some kisses. 

But, if Aelin wasn’t feeling so outraged, she would admit to herself that it wasn’t a bad feeling, having his teeth on her skin. Or smelling his scent, which made her remember Christmas nights, pine and snow and something else. For a moment, she considered grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him close enough so that she could bury her face in his neck, and maybe give him a bite there in return.

Too bad her blood was boiling so much.

He had just let go of her ear when Aelin shoved him. Which was a good thing, because he would’ve taken a piece of it if he was still bitting her.

Aelin raised her hand, pointing her index finger to his face.

“Do that again, you bastard, and you will spend the rest of your life eating baby food from a straw,” she snarled, baring her teeth at him.

Aelin thought she saw something like surprise in his expression, but whatever it was it was quickly replaced for a smirk and raised eyebrowns.

“There you are,” he said. “Guess the princess is not so cool and composed after all.”

Aelin took a step forward, forgetting that she was the one who imposed the distance in the first place, her hands now clenched in tight fists beside her. What’s up with this guy and this determination to piss her off?

“You shouldn’t try me like this. You have no idea how  _not_ composed I can be.”

He didn’t backup. If only, he bent towards her, looking down to her, his expression now a mist of irritation and mockery. “Do you think you scare me, princess? Go ahead and be bad, and cruel and mean. I can assure you, I’ve been ten times worse.”

Aelin doubted that. But she couldn’t tell him what, exactly, she was. Dammit, she didn’t even want to. She was in this damned place to forget about it, not to be reminded by some gorgeous silver-haired guy about the monster underneath her skin. Aelin wasn’t drunk enough for this, and would never be.

“Get out of my way,” she said. She was calling the night off.

–

Rowan didn’t intend to things to go this way. His plan was to talk smoothly, maybe even throw a compliment or two, and then invite her to his hotel room so that they could get a little more privacy and maybe be a little – or a lot – more intimate. And then he would get up at dawn, go to work, and only get back to the hotel when he was sure she was gone. He didn’t plan to bit her in the middle of a club, or start a snarling contest with this angry girl.

Yet, here he was.

What had happened with his cold self? Why this girl made him act this way? Sure, maybe seeing her eyes flash with such anger was just as impressive as he imagined they would be beaming with joy, but that wasn’t an excuse. Her slender neck and shining hair wasn’t an excuse. Her wonderful scent wasn’t an excuse. He had bit her, for fucks sake, without exchanging more than twenty words. Just because he got curious to see how she would react, and to see what was hiding behind that careless and seductive facade .

What was next? Feelings? He couldn’t afford something like that.

So he should’ve been glad when she put a hand on his chest, this time trying to shove him aside. He should’ve, but instead he was pissed, like she was calling off a unspoken agreement between them.

“Quitting after a little bite? I thought you would’ve appreciated the challenge.”

“I feel really sorry for you if you think biting people you barely know is good flirting.”

_Sorry_. He hated this word.

“I guess I’ve made a poor judgment. You are just a coward.”

He was hoping to fuel her rage, but instead she flinched, as if Rowan had hit her in a very painful spot. That made him even more angry, with her and with himself.

She withdrew her hand and started to move in the opposite direction, turning her back to him.

“It was an utterly displeasure meeting you,” she said, turning her head towards him, but without any feeling into her words.

_Well_ , Rowan thought, following her with his eyes, still inhaling her scent,  _what the fuck was that?_

–

_Coward_. Aelin hated that word. Hated so much because it was true, because every passing minute the scar in her palm got more painful to look at, because every moment she wasted in the club that word just turned to be more and more true.

She speeded up her pace, elbowing everyone who was in her way without a second glance and, most importantly, never looking back. When Aelin finally reached the exit door, she considered calling a cab, but her money was getting short after two weeks going out in a row.  _Walking it is_ , she thought bitterly.

It was chilly outside, enough to make her curse herself for not bringing a jacket. Since she had called the night off earlier than the usual, it couldn’t be more than 2 a.m. It wasn’t a long walk, especially if she went through the maze instead of picking the main road. Maybe she would be able to get around four hours of sleep when she got to her room. What a luxury. That, of course, if the nightmares let her.

The problem with walking, she thought, is that it’s too easy to the mind to start wander. And when Aelin’s mind wandered, it usually met with unpleasant thoughts.

It was really stupid for her to think that that arrogant bastard would be able to help her in any way. She was better off alone.  _Actually_ , Aelin thought, entering in a narrower street, walking with her head down,  _it’s what I deserve._ So she had to fulfill her promisse as soon as possible, and go far, far away. Far from a certain brown-haired boy, far from a certain bad smelling city, far from a certain guild and his leader, and, most of all, far from a country with green mountains and snow.

She was five minutes away from her rented place when she heard footsteps behind her. She didn’t stop walking, but took a turn in the opposite direction, going deeper into the neighborhood. She took four lefts turns, but the footsteps persisted behind her, now closer. Five people, if she wasn’t mistaken _. Shit._  Aelin stopped in the middle of the street, but didn’t turn back just yet.

If that blouse got ruined, she thought, picking the hidden dagger under her skirt, someone would suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be a true fanfiction if one didn't see something flash in the other's eyes, only to be gone in the next moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it's really short.

She pretended to look casual, even if the scene would seem absurd for anyone who saw her there, standing still in the middle of the street, picking her nails at 2 am. The narrow street wasn’t well-illuminated, but the sky was clear and there was a full moon, so it wasn’t completely dark. 

By the sound of their steps, now softer, they should be twelve feet away. With her training, dealing with five hoods wouldn’t be a problem, even after all that alcohol. Actually, it would be a welcomed distraction after the fiasco at the club, and she would be able to cool down some of the fire that bite had sparked off. 

But, as Aelin turned to face her stalkers, dagger now hidden up her sleeve, she noticed that they weren’t the usual kind of deliquent. For a start, they all wore black clothes, all clearly expensive, and black masks and cloaks. Freaking cloaks. Who, in the 21st century, wore cloaks? 

Aelin raised an eyebrown at the scene, five dark individuals standing in line, blocking the street, all looking at her. They haven’t lunged at her or started to tease or shout, as a normal attacker would do seeing a defenseless — or so it would seem — girl walking alone. People who knew who what she was, then. Or believed they did.

The tallest, the one right in front of her, made a signal with his hand, and the others started to walk around her, circling, measuring. Their posture and way of walk indicated some kind of training.  _Maybe military_ , Aelin thought.

She tilted her head. 

“Can I help you gentlemen with anything tonight?”, she said sweetly, hands on her hips, trying to asses where the group were from. Arobynn, the king or Maeve? Or someone else entirely? 

The one in front of her took a step closer, now standing only seven feet away. Male, tall, but not buff ou particularly strong, as far as Aelin could notice.

“You’re coming with us, assassin." 

Not Maeve’s men, then, or he would’ve addressed her differently. But, if they weren’t Maeve’s, Aelin wasn’t interested. 

"Well, I don’t know where you lot are from, but where _I_  come from, innocent girls don’t follow scary strangers into the night. Shouldn’t I at least know who you are?" 

The other four were now with weapons in their hands. Knifes, batons and even a nunchaku. Manageable. But then the leader picked a gun behind his back and pointed right at her. 

"For what I’ve heard,  _Pyro,_  you are anything but innocent. It’s seem that you’ve raged the wrong people with all the scheming and treachery. So you are coming, willing or not.” He tilted his head. “But, by all means, don’t feel obliged to come willing. It would be fun to destroy that pretty little face of yours." 

His voice was too distorted by the mask for her to recognize, and she couldn’t detect any peculiar accent. But he was really well-informed if he knew her little nickname  _and_ her face. And where to find her.

She changed the weight of her feet. 

"Maybe you’re right, and I really am guilty of scheming and treachery. But do you know what not so innocent girls do with scary strangers?" 

Someone else‘s steps echoed in a street nearby, and the man turned his head slightly towards the sound. Big, big mistake. Before anyone could blink, she picked her dagger under her sleeve and threw. 

Aelin'd turned before the man had collapsed screaming on the floor, with the knife in his left eye. She faced the others and smiled sweetly. 

"They kill them." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in this world people can tell how far other people are just by the sound and have perfect aim in the dark, fight me.


	4. Chapter 4

Rowan stayed in the night club half a hour more until he gave up and called the night off. The point was lost. He wasn’t able to pay attention in anyone since she had stormed out of the door. He thought that he could still smell her scent in his shirt, but that was ridiculous. They stoodclose for no longer than five minutes, and the club was packed with the smell of everyone’s colognes, perfumes and sweat.

_I must be more drunk than I’ve thought_ , he said to himself while going towards the exit.

Once out, he started his twenty minutes-walk to his hotel, and let his mind run freely to try to understand what the hell had just happened.

_It must be because of the mission_ , he thought. He nodded to himself. It made sense. He’d been particularly frustrated that night because he hadn’t located his target after a week in the city, so he was angry and didn’t have such a firm grip in his leash. Yes, that was it. He ignored a tiny and mocking voice in his head that said he wasn’t  _really_ on edge until he had stared into those odd eyes and smelled her scent.

All he had to do was to track his target as soon as possible and be done with it. And he’d better do it quickly. Maeve was growing impatient, and her impatient usually came with inquisitions, threats and punishments.

_Well_ , Rowan thought bitterly as he made a turn into a narrower and darker street,  _a little more information would’ve been useful_. 

Two weeks before, he had only his target’s alias – Pyro – and the suspicion that this person was extremely important in some way, or else Maeve wouldn’t have asked Rowan to bring her alive. And unharmed. In the following week, he had gathered all the information he could: he discovered that Pyro was actually an elite assassin, and not from any elite: Arobbyn’s guild. His last job seemed to take place almost two years ago, but then the informations got very scarce and shady. Some said that Pyro had ceised their partnership with Arobbyn and fleed to Australia. Others said they were in Africa forming an alliance with AlQaeda in Arobbyn’s name, and one of Rowan’s informants swore that Pyro was working for the King. In other words, a bunch of unreliable information. 

He didn’t even know if Pyro was a man or a woman, old or young, tall or short. Rowan had been considering the possibility to go ask Arobbyn himself when something new came. Not something,  _someone_. The body of an unknown man was found in an alley in Naples, with third degree burns in his hands, eyes and genitals and a dagger in his heart. The Italian police was completely lost, but Rowan had recognized the pattern. Many of Pyro’s alleged targets had showed up in the same way: with burned body parts and a dagger in their hearts.

Rowan didn’t particularly care why they ended up that way. He knew that in this business – his business too –, the most important thing was to deliver results: if one paid you to kill someone else,  _hows_ and  _whens_ and  _wheres_ hardly matter. People wanted the problem to be gone, and the least they know, the better.

But all this questions were now useful to him, because the more he understood his target, the more likely he would be able to track it down. So he booked the first flight to Naples and had spent the last week trying to solve the case by himself.

And he was getting close, but not  _fast enough_. He kicked a pebble on the street. He already knew in which store the dagger responsible for the killing blow was bought, but none of the salesmen remembered selling it in the last few weeks. Pyro probably stole the weapon, which was really smart, and Rowan hasn’t been able – yet – to take a look in the security cameras. And the identity of the victim was still a mistery. Hell, if Rowan wasn’t so frustrated, he would be quite impressed. He was actually  _looking forward_  to meet Pyro, and he couldn’t remember the last time he got excited about someone. Or something.

Suddenly, he stopped. He was closer than he expected of his place, his feet taking him automatically while his mind wandered, but Rowan stopped because he thought he could hear  fighting, probably in one of the parallel streets. Normally he would just keep walking, but ever since he got out of the club, ever since that… girl had turned her back on him, the screams were louder. Rowan began the night hoping that a more pleasurable activity would muffle them down, but now it seemed that his only alternative was to throw himself into an alley fight and hope to _not_ knock someone out with just one punch.

He walked fast towards the sound, turning right and trying to peek into the crossing alleyways to discover the origin of the noises. He looked left and stopped abruptly.

A cloud had covered the moon and Rowan couldn’t distinguish any details, but he could see enough. Four men were on the floor, all looking unconscious or in great level of pain, and a fifth man was fighting someone further on the street. Rowan couldn’t see the other fighter because it was darker that deep into the laneand the fifth man was blocking his view. 

He started to run in their direction, but just as he was getting close, the man was pushed towards Rowan, and they both went to the floor. 

He cursed and pushed the man – now whimpering in the floor and holding what it seemed to be a broken arm – away from him, but when he got back to his feet, the mistery person was already far away, so deep into the dark that he could only distinguish their faint steps. And soon those were gone too.

He considered going after the fighter, but something got his attention. Two feet away, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, was a tall man with a dagger in his left eye. Rowan got closer, and he instantly recognized the hilt of the dagger. It was identical to the one found stuck into the unknown man’s heart from two weeks ago.  _Now, what were the odds of that being a coincidence?_

He bent and checked the man’s pulse. He was still alive, but wasn’t going to be able to answer any questions so soon. Rowan straighten himself and analyzed the situation. He was cool and calm now, his mind already running possibilities and odds and scenarios. All the men wore the same clothes, so he could presume that they were a team or some sort of squad, and their target was probably the person who’d run away. Not only that, but had apparently beat the crap out of them before doing so. Feeling a rush of adrenaline through his body, he marched towards the man with the broken arm and grabbed his hair, forcing him to look into Rowan’s eyes.

“Who was that person?”

The man only whimpered and tried to avoid his gaze. He had no patience for that. He grabbed the broken arm and squeezed. The man cried in pain.

“Was he Pyro?”

The man nooded, tears in his eyes.

“How did he look like? Do you know who is he?”

The man was very pale and started do shake his head, but Rowan firmed his grip on his arm and the man broke.

“B-back pocket,” he said before fainting.

Rowan searched his back pocket and found a picture.

And his heart stopped.

He picked his phone and turned on the flashlight, just to be sure he wasn’t allucinating. She was wearing sunglasses, her face turned sideways, but he had admired that hair, that nose and that cheekbones no more than an hour ago.

Rowan felt an icy rage take over his body, and gripped the photo so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Oh, that little vixen was in deep, deep trouble. And he would make sure she wouldn’t be able to escape from it any time soon.


	5. Chapter 5

To say Aelin was in a bad mood was an understatement. She had a nasty cut in her arm, had slept two miserable hours and now would be obliged to flee from Naples before fulfilling any of her missions.

She couldn’t even expect Maeve to find her. She did her part: she left the body in a perfectly good,  _findable_ place, with a perfectly good  _and unique_  dagger in its heart. But even if Maeve’s men were as good as she believed they were, they would need at least one more week to track her. And Aelin couldn’t stay in Naples one more week, not after last night.

If only she had the time to interrogate those men… she would at least know who had sent them. _But of course someone had to snoop around and ruin everything_ , she thought bitterly, shoving her clothes inside her packback. She was sure they weren’t Arobbyn’s, though. It wasn’t his style to send a bunch of unknown men after her. No, Arobbyn’s style was to deceive, scheme and explore one’s weakness… and  _then_ beat you up. Plus, they weren’t good enough to be part of the guild. So if they weren’t Arobbyn’s and they weren’t Maeve’s — because Aelin was sure that it would be the first thing they would’ve mention if the Dark Queen was involved —, who the fuck were they? The King? Aelin frowned. It would explain how they knew her face  _and_ her alias, but it didn’t add up. She was, after all, under his orders — supposedly. If he suspected anything, all he had to do was to summon her back and she would have to obey.

Once she'd gathered all her — few — belongings, she stopped in the middle of the room and sighed. She was so tired of running. So tired of looking over her shoulder, being haunted by ghosts and hunted by monsters. But she'd made a promise to a friend, and she couldn’t run away for good just yet. She had to think in another way to save Nehemia’s country, some other way that didn’t involve Maeve.

She scanned the room one more time and rolled up her sleeve to make sure her arm was not bleeding again. After sullying two towels with blood — which Aelin promptly burned and thanked god by the lack of fire alarms in italian’s flats —, the cut had finally started to close and she was able to make a dressing. Aelin knew that she needed stitches, but she couldn’t be bothered right know.

She grabbed the keys and went to the door. At least her landlord would be happy, since she had paid enough for a month worth and would only be staying two weeks. That should cover the towels.

She opened the door. And froze.

Because that silver-haired man was standing right in front of her, with a murderous look in his face.

— —

The look of surprise in the girl’s face only made Rowan more angry. How dare she, after toying with him the way she did last night, show surprise because he was standing in her front door? Didn’t she know what he was doing here, hadn’t she led him here?

The hours after he discovered that Pyro was  _her_ didn’t do much to sooth his anger. First, Rowan was obliged to flee before he could ask any more questions to those men. Apparently, someone in the neighborhood got tired of the fight and called the police. But he couldn’t waste time, so he left as soon as he heard the first siren, and immediately called Vaugh. If anyone could help him right know, Rowan thought, it would be Maeve’s hacker. And he was right. He'd just checked out of his hotel room when Vaugh sent him a list with all the rooms rented in the past three weeks inside a twokilometer radius with the club as its center. Rowan wasn’t sure about this last condition, but he had this feeling that she wouldn’t go to a club far off of the place she was staying.

And although the list Vaugh had sent was relatively small, he spent the last four hours asking very sleepy and cranky and foul-mouthed landlords about a girl who  _could’ve_ rented their place, and  _probably_ hasn’t showed herself to anyone. He was almost in the end of the list when a man said to him he had rented his place to someone called Ash Smith. All the contact was made online and the money deposit was unidentified. _There you are_ , Rowan thought when the man finally passed the address, moved by Rowan’s story of his search for a lost sister.

Rowan said to himself that he was in such a state because he hadn’t slept and was forced to knock in people’s door and invent stories to know her whereabouts. He’d even  _smiled_ to people, for god’s sake. It was  _not_ because his pride and ego were bruised. It was  _not_ because she'd found him before he found her. It was  _not_ because she clearly was in that club to taunt him, to show how smart she was. And, above all, it was  _not_ because, in daylight, her golden hair shined brighter and her eyes sparked more than Rowan could believe it was possible.

— —

“You’re coming with me,” he said through gritted teeth.

Aelin raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore how fast her heart was beating.

“You know, you’re the second person that said this to me in a period of…”, she said, faking concentration, “six hours. I must warn you that the first guy didn’t like how the conversation ended.”

She pretended to be unconcerned, but inside she was tense trying to analyze the situation. Who really was this guy? How did he find her? What would be better, to flee through the window or to try to pick her remaining dagger strapped in her lower back? By the look he was shooting her, it was obvious this wasn’t a happy coincidence. She took a step back and he entered the room.

He crossed his arms, what made evident just how strong they were — as if Aelin hadn’t noticed  _that_ the night before — but his eyes — his shiny and intense green eyes — didn’t leave hers.

“I know, I saw the dagger you forgot in his eye. That’s why you will not make any sudden movements unless you want one in your heart to replace the two you lost.”

He uncrossed his arms and Aelin narrowed her eyes. He was now holding a dagger in his right hand.

_Shit._

She tried to remain calm, and waved her hand dismissively.

“Look, I have no idea what you are talking about. I know that we didn’t exactly hit it off last night, but you can’t come with a dagger to a girl’s house just because you got dumped.”

That wasn’t the right thing to say. Before she could react, he’d grabbed her wrist with an iron grip and had pulled her closer, holding the dagger near her neck. The arm he was holding was the one injured, and Aelin felt a pang of pain.

“Don’t you dare to say you don’t know who I am,  _Pyro_. Your little act of last night was enough. You are coming with me.”

Aelin raised her head and faced him, pain forgotten, her own blood now boiling. To hell with caution.

“So let me be clear, you bastard. Yes, I  _am_ Pyro, and yes, I  _did_ throw a knife in a man’s eye last night. But I have no idea who you are and what do you want from me, so you better let me go right now.”

His expression seemed to show doubt for a instant, but it hardened again before she could be sure of anything. 

“Do you expect me to believe that you  _coincidentally_ met me last night, without knowing that Maeve sent me?”

Aelin couldn’t mask her surprise. She even forgot he was still with a dagger near her neck . 

“Wait, you are Maeve’s?”

He took a step back and retreated the knife, but didn’t release her wrist.

“Like you didn’t know”, he snarled.

Aelin tilted her head and couldn’t help the smile that came up. That changed things considerably. If this man were really Maeve’s, he was the one Aelin was looking for. She could carry on her plan to help Nehemia. Perhaps she wasn’t so out of luck as she’d thought.

“You know what? Your charming self convinced me. I guess I’m going with you after all.”

He looked at her with suspicious, his green eyes narrowing and the snarling — which Aelin was starting to think was permanent — never faltering. After a moment of consideration, he released her wrist, but didn’t put away the dagger.

“If this is your attempt to trick me, Pyro, you…”, he started.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re going to stab me to death. Got that part.” Aelin waved her hand again, but in doing that, she noticed that her arm was bleeding again. She sighed.

“Can I get my aid kit in my bag?”, she said, rolling her sleeve up slowly. “My wound seems to have open, despite your delicate manners.”

He looked at her arm and his face flashed again with anger. Like it was  _her_ fault to have been ambushed. _Insufurable bastard_.

He finally put away his dagger.

“I’ll do it. I don’t trust you with a needle either. Sit.” He pointed to the chairs near the dining table, and marched towards her backpack.

“What, do you think I’ll kill you with a needle?” She could do that, but he didn’t need to know it. Yet. “Besides, if you wanted to look through my stuff, all you had to do was ask”, she said, trying to tease him. 

She wasn’t feeling very well, though. The lack of sleep and the blood loss was taking their price. When was the last time she ate? Yesterday morning? Does booze counts?

She sat to prevent the dizziness, trying to pretend she was doing it unwillingly. He returned with her aid kit, still looking angry, and sat in front of her. He prepared the needle and the line and started to work in her arm silently. 

His hands were surprisingly gentle, and the atmosphere in the room changed so fast that Aelin moved uncomfortable in her chair. He shot her a warning look, but that reminded her the way he looked at her last night, when Aelin still believed he was just a gorgeous man in the club — despite his acusations — and her only goal was to bed him. She must’d been really drunk to not notice that the threatening aura around him was an indication of something more. 

“So, you are part of Maeve’s cadre?”, Aelin asked, trying to shove away the memories of last night. “Who are you?”

He didn’t looked up, but talked after a moment.

“Rowan.”

It was the second time that morning that Aelin couldn't suppress the surprise in her face. Rowan Whitethorn, the Anemoi, and second general of Maeve’s cadre. Maeve’d sent one of the best trackers in the world after her. People said that no one could escape Anemoi, because the very wind told him its secrets. And when he found his target, few lived to tell the story. 

_O_ _h my god, I wanted to fuck the Anemoi_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So,about timelines:  
> Aelin is 22, Rowan is 32.  
> Rhoe and Evalin were murdered when Aelin was 12, not 8. And Rowan was 22 when Lyria died. I guess.

Rowan allowed himself to close his eyes for thirty minutes. 

Their wagon was practically empty, with only a couple of tourists that had already passed Rowan’s scrutiny. It would take fifty minutes more to get to Rome, and he could use a little rest after the last twenty-four hours. Thank gods the girl’d picked up his mood and hadn’t tried to start any conversation. She was looking through the window absentmindedly since the beginning of the ride. Which was fine with Rowan, but it was a bit weird – now that he was thinking about it – that she didn’t ask any questions about Maeve. 

He’d said, when he finally finished stitching her up, that Maeve had sent him to bring her to Rome and that was it. She’d picked her backpack and had followed him obediently since then, not saving him raised eyebrows and unimpressed looks, but not uttering a single word of protest. Really  _really_ odd, especially if Rowan thought about her reaction before he’d mentioned Maeve. Was it possible that she wanted Maeve to find her? If that was the case, why hadn’t she said anything at the club? He still refused to believe that their meeting there was coincidental. Especially because that would mean that whatever they had at the club was real, and not some arranged ploy to torment him. And Rowan preferred to feel anger towards her, thank you very much. 

Who exactly was this girl?, he thought for what it seemed the hundredth time. How such a girl – she was what, twenty? Twenty-one? – could be one of the world’s best assassins? And why Maeve was so interested in her?

_Not your business_ , he scolded himself, while refraining the urge to open his eyes to look at her. He followed orders. He did not ask questions and, most important, he did not wonder. The cadre didn’t need to know anything more than the strict necessary to do its job, and do it well. And it didn’t matter. He would deliver the girl to Maeve and leave. Hopefully he would be able to get some sleep and then spar with Lorcan, if he was around. And then wait for his next mission. 

– – 

Aelin’s always liked Rome. Many believed that the city didn’t live up for its potential, but she liked the way it was as beautiful as it was flawed. It was almost like the city was this way out of spite. And, above all, Aelin really,  _really_ , liked the ice cream. Unfortunately, given her company and the person that was waiting for them, it didn’t seem she was going to get that ice cream any time soon. 

She didn’t bother to voice her thoughts, though. Her chaperone was back to his brooding self and was pretending to be asleep (as if she would believe anyone with a jaw so clenched could be sleeping). That observation turned out to be correct when he stood up exactly two minutes before the train had reached the final station. Without uttering a word, he picked up her bag and moved to the exit. Aelin repressed the urge to roll her eyes and followed him. 

Outside the station, a black shiny and  _very_ expensive car was waiting for them. Rowan pratically shoved her into the car and — to her surprise — followed her in the backseat.

She raised one eyebrow. 

“Can’t afford to be five inches away for me?” 

“Can’t afford for you to make some idiotic attempt of escape and delay us even more”, he snarled. 

“How many times do I have…”, Aelin started, but Rowan raised his hand to stop her and turned to the driver — an old man who seemed at least seventy. 

“To her, Emrys. Make it fast.” 

The driver nodded, but his gaze — sharp and assessing brown eyes — was fixed in Aelin through the review mirror. She looked away from the scrutiny and he started driving. 

They drove for thirty minutes — the driver expertly avoiding the chaotic traffic — and with every turn the streets turned narrower and shadier. The old man — Emrys — finally pulled over in a alley . He didn’t get out of the car, put Rowan grabbed her arm and Aelin got off with a final look to the driver. 

They were standing in front of what it seemed to be a warehouse. There wasn’t anyone else in sight, just an electric panel, but Aelin wasn’t fooled. She doubted that anywhere Maeve was didn’t mean at least twenty guards in the proximity. Rowan typed something in the panel and, after a moment, a small door, the same color of the wall and almost invisible, opened. Aelin tried to stop fidgeting. She was finally here and knew what she had to do. For Nehemia. But she also had heard stories about the Dark Queen, and knew that Maeve wouldn’t make anything easy for her. 

Aelin took a deep breath and entered the warehouse. 

Big, bright lights attacked her senses, and while her eyes were still adjusting she heard a voice, smooth and pretty and very, very dangerous.

“Hello, Aelin Ashryver Galanthyus.” 

– – 

 

Only Rowan’s years of training allowed him to maintain his face expressionless. Aelin Ashryver Galanthyus. The so-called heir of Terrasen. Daughter of Rhoe and Evalin, the world famous and charming activists against slavery, human traffic, poor working conditions and labor rights. They’d started their work in their small country, but had reached a point that all they had to do was to put together the name of a company and the word “boicot” for the whole world to stop buying its products. Whole conglomerates bankrupted, only with a plead from Evalin and a fierce statement of Rhoe.

Governments started to fear them — what would happen if they turned their attention to politicians —, but before anything could escalate, the couple had died.  _Murdered_ , Rowan suddenly remembered, but couldn’t remember the details. It was around the same time that Lyria… he was half mad back then, and both local and global news were irrelevant in his state. 

_Maybe that’s why I didn’t remember they had a daughter_ , Rowan thought, now looking at the back of the girl in front of him, frozen and looking straight to his queen. Rowan looked up, assessing the room in a second — the empty warehouse; Maeve sitting comfortably in a leather chair in the middle of the room and a desk in front of her; Connan, Fenrys and Gavriel standing beside her, their faces impassive — and rushed forward toward his queen. 

“My lady”, he said, bowing and kissing the hand she'd offered when he’d approached. But her eyes remained fixed in Pyro, no,  _Aelin_ , a hungry expression on her face, so Rowan stood up and positioned himself beside his team. His job was complete. 

– – 

 

Aelin should’ve been ready for it. For that name. She wasn’t. All the memories she’d had locked so long ago were banging at the door, begging to come out. She took a deep breath and put another lock on the mental door. 

“Aelin Galanthyus is dead,” she said, facing the Dark Queen. 

She was terrifying. Others would look silly sitting in the middle of a warehouse, the room shadowed and bare except for that table and chair. Maeve didn’t. She dominated the space, and made you think that you were the silly one, the stupid one, for not guessing the purpose of this specific scenario. No wonder she was considered the most important mob leader in this side of the ocean. If the King owned America, Maeve had almost every country in Europe in the palm of her hand. Rumors said that she knew every weakness of every president or ruler, so everyone looked the other way while her empire — built by a network of traffic, guns and secrets — continued to grow. 

Aelin considered a scape, but she knew it was pointless. She’d heard the lock on the door, and she was sure it would be only a matter of seconds for Rowan to reach her if she turned her back to them. So she bowed and tried to collect herself enough to remain in character. 

“If I knew I would meet you as soon as we arrived, my lady, I would’ve dressed more appropriately.” 

Maeve sent her an assessive look. 

“I’m afraid Rowan was just following his orders to bring you to me as soon as he’d found you.” The Queen turned to Rowan and cocked her head. “Of course, the fact that it took him three weeks to do so makes one wonder.” 

Despite herself, Aelin couldn’t help the smirk that broke from her lips.  _Take that, you cocky bastard_ , she thought while glancing at Rowan. His face remained expressionless and his eyes were fixed on Maeve’s, but his posture was stiff.

“But I suppose I should be expecting it.” Maeve turned to face her again. “It seems you do have a knack for disappearing and appearing in the most unexpected places, my dear. Imagine my surprise when one of my informants told me, two years ago, that he saw a girl with Ashryver eyes chained, being transported to the cold, unforgiving…” 

“Enough,” Aelin interrupted, the smirk gone. 

Rowan was looking at her now, his expression almost puzzled. She didn’t need him, or anyone else in that room, to feel sorry for her for what had happened in Russia. 

“I know where I was two years ago. It  _is_ part of my job, though, to not let people know the same thing. At least,” she raised her chin and shot a defiant look at Rowan and Maeve, “unless I want them to.” 

_Reckless, big mouthed and arrogant. Liar._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha, that was abrupt.


End file.
